


just a fool for you

by thealpacalypse



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-28
Updated: 2016-05-28
Packaged: 2018-07-10 17:11:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6997204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thealpacalypse/pseuds/thealpacalypse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Way after the inception, Arthur gets an unexpected phone call from Eames. It goes in a way that Arthur doesn't expect it to at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	just a fool for you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dapperscript](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dapperscript/gifts).



> I just watched Inception for the millionth time or so and I had to write this fic. I've always been a fan of this pairing, and I know my friend Krysta is, too, so I wrote this for her. 
> 
> The title is from the song "Phone Call" by Forever The Sickest Kids - which has basically nothing to do with the fic, but maybe I have a secret headcanon that Arthur listens to sad emo teen bands while wondering why Eames never called him after the inception. Maybe I don't have this headcanon. You'll never know. Also, this is not beta'd. Sorry.
> 
> Enjoy!

It’s early evening when Arthur sits in the hotel bar, expensive glass of wine in front of him, just a bit tired, but in a pleasant way. He thinks about his job offers and where to go next – he could go anywhere now, he could even get by without working a single job ever again, Saito had made sure of that. But Arthur has to admit, he loves his job. Loves the thrill, loves the attention he gets now in the community. There are only rumors about the inception of course, but that’s enough to make him famous.

 

He thinks about calling Ariadne, just to ask her what she’s working on at the moment. It’s always a pleasure to work with her, and just like him, she can never stay away too long from the endless opportunities of shared dreaming.

 

But the second he grabs his phone out of his pocket, it starts ringing.

 

_Eames_ , the display says.

 

Well… that’s unexpected.

 

“Mr. Eames,” Arthur answers the phone. His own voice sounds strange to him, his heart is beating just a tick too hard and fast. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your call?”

 

He gets up, puts some money on the table and heads towards his hotel room. Somehow he wants to have more privacy for this conversation.

 

Eames laughs at the other end of the line. “Arthur! Good to hear that the stick up your arse is still intact. What’s with the formalities? Have you already forgotten how we shared three layers of dreams once?”

 

Arthur rolls his eyes. “Two, technically,” he corrects Eames. “Since I wasn’t in the third one.” He presses the button to the third floor in the elevator. It reminds him of how he had to carry a sleeping Eames and the whole rest of the team into an elevator at zero gravity once. He has done jobs after that, but nothing has been as memorable as that one. Nothing has mattered as much.

 

“Of course,” Eames says, sarcasm dripping from his voice, “two. We don’t want any misinformation here, do we?”

 

Arthur sighs. Why does Eames have to be like this? “What do you want?” he asks. He opens the door to his hotel room and throws himself on the bed, phone pressed against his right ear.

 

“Why do you always think I want something?” Eames still sounds like his usual, cocky self, but somehow Arthur thinks there’s something in Eames’s voice that’s… deeper. More serious, maybe more real.

 

“Because you always do,” Arthur replies simply.

 

There’s a pause at the other end. Arthur stares at the tips of his black, polished shoes. He thinks maybe he should take those shoes off – he doesn’t want to ruin the duvet. He also thinks he should maybe say something. There are a lot of things he wants to say to Eames, and the longer the silence stretches, the more urgently those things want to stumble over his lips. He swallows them down.

 

“What are you up to?” Eames finally asks, and it sounds too casual, too random.

 

Arthur wriggles around on the bed, trying to get more comfortable, leaning against the headboard. “You mean jobwise? Nothing, at the moment. Why, do you have an offer?”

 

Another short pause. Then Eames breathes out and says, “no, I didn’t mean jobwise. I just meant… I’m in Kyoto at the moment. But I might be in London soon, and I thought, if you’re still there then, you might wanna grab a drink or something?”

 

Now it’s Arthur’s time to pause. This is a lot to process. He knows that Eames is in Kyoto, even though he hasn’t spoken to Eames himself since the inception. It’s just what he does, keeping track of things, it doesn’t – it’s no big deal. What surprises him though is that Eames knows about Arthur being in London. That must mean that Eames is keeping track of Arthur as well.

 

And then there’s the fact that Eames just asked Arthur out. It’s _a lot_.

 

“Are – are you sure you don’t need anything from me?” Arthur finally stammers. Damnit, he needs to keep himself together. His self-control around Eames has always been more than lacking, but this is just embarrassing. “I mean that sounds a lot like…” He doesn’t finish the sentence. He’s not even sure how he wanted to finish it in the first place.

 

“Bloody hell,” Eames breathes out. And then, all of a sudden, his voice is so firm and clear that it gives Arthur goose bumps. “You’re even thicker than you look, aren’t you? Let me spell it out for you: I’m asking you out on a date. And it’s about time as well, don’t you think?”

 

Arthur laughs breathlessly. He’s almost tempted to get out his dice to see if he’s dreaming. But that’s absurd, he knows exactly that he’s awake.

 

He knows he should reply to at least one of Eames’s questions now, but all he can manage is, “did you just insult me in the process of asking me out?”

 

Eames groans. He sounds tired. Only now Arthur realizes that it must be what, like 4 am in Kyoto? That guy, unbelievable.

 

Slowly, Arthur allows himself to be filled up with happiness. Not completely, just a little bit in his finger tips and toes and stomach, no more. This whole thing could still go south. He doesn’t want to get too excited just yet.

 

He bites his lip. “Why would I ever go out with you?” he grins. His heart is pulsing in his throat, wants to break free in ridiculous giggles.

 

“Because,” Eames explains as if he rehearsed it, and probably he has, that asshole, “you can’t resist my charms and my ruggedly handsome face. And also because I know where to get the best wine in all of London. You love your Cabernet Sauvignon, don’t you?”

 

Arthur licks his lips. He can still taste the wine he had only minutes ago down at the bar.

 

“You know me too well,” he says. And it’s supposed to be only about the wine, but when he realizes that Eames will take it as a reply to the rest of it as well, he feels the heat rise in his cheeks.

 

“I know, darling,” Eames purrs, and now all the cockiness is back, and it makes Arthur’s insides twist funnily. His happiness spreads now uncontrollably through his body, exploding in sparks all over his chest, in his head, everywhere.

 

“Okay,” he finally says. His chest feels light. Maybe the wine was too much, he feels a bit dizzy.

 

Eames laughs, and Arthur swears it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard.

 

“Alright,” Eames says, and how does he sound so in control? Honestly, it’s unfair. “I’ll call you when I’m in town.”

 

It sounds like the conversation is over, but Arthur realizes it can’t be, not yet.

  
“Wait!” he yells, way too loud, way too desperate.

 

Eames waits, patiently. Plenty of time for Arthur to get up the nerve to ask what he wants to ask. Plenty of time to overthink everything and go into panic mode as well.

 

“Arthur?” Eames asks, gently. It almost makes Arthur whimper.

 

Arthur takes a deep, shaky breath.

 

Then, “why the fuck aren’t you asleep?”

 

This isn’t the question he wants to ask. He wants to ask a lot of questions, but then again, he thinks, better wait until he can hold onto a glass of Cabernet and ask Eames directly. Better ask something irrelevant and silly now just to get the chance to hear Eames laugh one more time.

 

Eames does laugh. “You always have to have the last word, don’t you?” he asks.

 

Arthur opens his mouth to protest, but then realizes that would just prove Eames’s point. He doesn’t want to give Eames the satisfaction of that.

 

“Good night, Mr. Eames,” he says instead, and hopes his voice doesn’t betray the smile on his lips.

 

He can hear Eames smiling back. “Good night, darling.”


End file.
